


Back to The Green

by baniszew



Category: Anthropomorfic, Pizza (Anthropomorphic), Scenes from an Italian Restaurant - Billy Joel (Song), Wines (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baniszew/pseuds/baniszew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A winged corkscrew and a church key reminisce about The Village Green, a pizza parlor owned by Brenda and Eddie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to The Green

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whatsubtext](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsubtext/gifts).



_A bottle of white, a bottle of red,_

_Perhaps a bottle of rosé instead._

_We'll get a table near the street_

_In our old familiar place_

_You and I - face to face hm, hm_

_A bottle of red, a bottle of white_

_It all depends upon your appetite_

_I'll meet you any time you want_

_In our Italian Restaurant._

 

It was a dark and blustery evening.  The wind rattled the windows, and the dim lights flickered.  Cold drafts seeped ceaselessly through the door as the evening rush began.  Many faces were tired and affixed to heads with no thoughts beyond, "Ugh, what a day.  I need a drink."  Other faces smoldered and flickered with hope, as they encountered old friends and traded glances with new, prospective friends.  

 

Up at the bar, the PBRs nodded to each other, affirming each other's hip identities.  The Budweisers hardly noticed.  They were too busy wrestling and showing off in front of the Bud Lights, who sloshed and dripped licentiously across the bartop.  The microbrews gathered in the corner, quietly taking in the atmosphere.

 

A little used drawer creaked open.   The wing corkscrew, which had been snuggling contentedly with the sommelier knife, stretched its arms and prepared for its assignment.  It was excited to see who it would get to meet tonight.  A sophisticated Merlot?  A light hearted Riesling?  

 

When it got to the table and opened the bottle, it met a simple chardonnay who barely said hello before sliding into a glass and looking pleasant but dull.  The corkscrew sighed.  There had been a time when the wines were such good social lubricants.  Every one it met sparked great conversations between itself and everyone on the table.  But that was hardly ever the case nowadays.  Eddie just wasn't putting much heart into managing the bar anymore, and the menu showed it.  So did the waitstaff.  The corkscrew was appalled to find that it had been left behind on the table and not taken home to the drawer and its family.  It drooped its arms sulkily.  Then it heard a voice.

 

"Corky, is that you?"

 

On the other side of the little table sat a churchkey.  The corkscrew stared at it, trying to place the voice and the engraving on the handle.  Corky clicked its arms closed, taken aback.  "Kelsey?"

 

"It is you!  Fancy running into you here," said the churchkey.  It tossed aside a bottlecap and wandered across the table.  

 

"You can say that again.  But where did you come from?  I've been here since Eddie converted the place into a bar.  But I haven't seen you in years."

 

Kelsey scratched idly at the tabletop with its point.  "Yeah, well.  It was a tough couple of years.  I spent a lot of it in a shoe box."

 

"A shoe box?  How inconsiderate!"

 

"Well, you know, I was a gift from Brenda back when she and Eddie first opened The Village Green.  I guess he didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't let me go either.  But now the bar is pretty short on bottle openers, so he dug me out, took off my keyring attachment, and here I am at work again.  I may be a little rusty, but it hasn't been too hard getting back in the swing of things."

 

Just then, there was a great commotion as a pizza pan lowered onto the table.  On top of one of Eddie's signature thin crusts, some tater tots perched awkwardly, their eyes downcast to avoid looking at anyone else.  Several rivulets of truffle oil glistened around them, trying to make small talk.  "So," said the widest rivulet, "Are you pre-baked before being put on the pizza, or just baked the once?"

 

After several seconds of silence, the cheese (a very gregarious monterey jack), said to the nearest tater tot, "Now, Tatiana, weren't you just telling me that you all had a nice soak in the deep fryer before we all got baked?  I'm sure all the other toppings would love to hear about it."

 

"Oh," said Tatiana, "Well, I guess it was very warm.  Umm, it was kind of loud with all the bubbling.  But there were some really lovely bath salts in the canola oil with us--"

 

"Canola oil!" cut in one of the rivulets.  "Well I never!  I'll have you know, madame, that my friends and I are made from only the finest olive and grapeseed oils.  And you expect us to mingle with a topping made with common canola?"

 

"Now just one second," said the monterey jack.  "Let's not rush to conclusions here.  I'm sure we can all learn a thing or two from each other and have a great pizza together." But it was too late.  The truffle oil was dripping off the sides of each slice as fast as it could, and the tater-tots found themselves plucked off and crammed down the gullet of one of the diners.  The tater-tot munching diner wiped their mouth with the sleeve of their flannel shirt.  The other diner ate a few small morsels of pizza with a knife and fork, neatly wiped their mouth and fingers with their napkin, and placed the refolded napkin on the corner of the table.  They talked little, paid the check quickly, and parted ways.

 

Kelsey sighed.  "It didn't used to be that way."

 

"No," said Corky.  "Eddie used to really know how to bring his ingredients together.  Now it's like he's just pulling things out of a hat."

 

"It used to bring the people together, too, to explore new pizzas like that.  Brenda and Eddie sure made a lot of people happy."

 

"Yeah, those were the good old days..."

 

_Things are okay with me these days_

_I got a good job, I got a good office_

_I got a new wife, got a new life_

_And the family is fine_

_Oh we lost touch long ago_

_You lost weight - I did not know_

_you could ever look so nice after so much time._

_Do you remember those days hanging out at The Village Green?_

_Barbecue sauce, chicken tenders, and ripe blue cheese_

_Oh you drop a ten in the box get a pie made with canned sardines_

_Cold beer, hot lights, my sweet romantic teenage nights ooh, ooh_

_Oh, oh, oh, oh….._

 

\---

 

_Brenda and Eddie were the popular steadies_

_And the king and the queen of the pie_

_Riding around with the box top down and the radio on_

_Nobody looked any finer_

_Or was more of a hit at the Parkway Diner_

_We never knew we could want more than that out of life_

_Shirley, Brenda, and Eddie would always know how to survive._

_Oh, oh, oh, oh….._

 

The Parkway Diner had been the post-soccer game hangout for as long as anyone could remember.  The home team would take the visitors there for pizza, and rivals became friends as thick slices of pepperoni softened and big chunks of garlic sweetened in the warm oven.  A kid named Eddie Trevino alway worked Saturdays and made the pizzas for the soccer teams.

 

In the spring of 1975, something big happened.  The University played host to an international soccer tournament, to foster good will.  But they soon found that soccer matches don't always end in handshakes and smiles.  

 

The afternoon sun belied the tension in the atmosphere as the teams filed into the Parkway Diner following the first match.  A waitress named Shirley approached with caution to take their orders.  "Just tell Eddie to come up with something good," said one of the hometown players.  

 

Eddie had gone traveling over his spring vacation, and he had brought back ideas.  And so in the ovens, something happened that had not been seen before in the little town.  Slices of ham were curling up in the mozzarella, rejoicing in the heat.  It was several minutes before they noticed they weren't alone.  "Well, hello there," said one slice to some sort of yellow … thing … resting nearby.  "You're not from around here, are you?"

 

"I beg you pardon," said the pale yellow chunk.  "We may be new in town, but we were hoping for a more polite reception."

 

"Someone talks all nice and fancy, do they?" sneered the ham.  "Well, you'd best go back where you came from.  Someone fancy like you is probably highly perishable and should stay in the fridge.  This here diner is for simple, down to earth American toppings."

 

"I'll have you know," retorted the pineapple, "that we were grown in Hawaii.  We're as American as any of you.  Not that it should make a difference.  Pigs aren't native to North America any more than pineapples are.  And I'll have you know that pineapple farmers are hard workers, planting and harvesting each pineapple by hand.  I bet pig farmers are lazy, greasy people with clogged arteries."

 

"Children!" cried a crumbled bit of sage leaf, "Are you all here to do your best to make this pizza taste delicious?"

 

The ham and the pineapple looked at each other uncomfortably.  "Uh, yes ma'am."  

 

"Then quit your arguing and get back to cooking.  All your complex organic molecules aren't going to break down in to succulent and digestible pieces by themselves.  We're all here to get a job done.  And we're on the same pie, so we're going to have to do it together."

 

The pineapple and the ham saw that the sage spoke wisely.  The ham told the pineapple about its lost childhood ambition to have a honey glaze, and the pineapple made the ham smile by saying how its sweet fruit flavor, somewhat caramelized by the baking process, would bring out the richness of the ham in much the same way as honey might have.  And so it was that the ham and the pineapple became friends.

 

When the pizza was presented to the soccer players, the home team and the visiting team both looked at it dubiously.  

"Fruit on a pizza?"

"You did _what_ to perfectly good ham?"

"You did _what_ to perfectly good pineapple?"

 

But they decided to have a little faith in the spirit of exploration and goodwill, and they filled their plates with steaming hot slices.  Soon, both teams were laughing together and praising Eddie's genius.  As the days went by, more teams from all over gathered at the Parkway Diner, and Eddie's experiments became more exotic.  Spicy peanut chicken pizza was followed by caramelized onion and plum sauce people.  The crowds went wild.  

 

\---

 

It was a brisk autumn Saturday, 4 o'clock in the afternoon.  Eddie paced around the kitchen.  He peaked out into the nearly empty dining room again.  The door hit him in the nose as Shirley came into the kitchen, carrying an order slip.

 

"Are you okay?  What were you doing hiding like that?" she asked.

 

Eddie rubbed his nose.  "I'm fine.  It's just… Well, today was the first soccer game of the season."

 

Shirley raised one eyebrow.  "So where is everybody?  They should have been here hours ago."

 

"That's just what I was wondering," said Eddie.

 

***

 

A few blocks away, two soccer teams sat on the lush grass of the village green.  It had certainly been their intention to head to the Parkway Diner after the game.  But as they walked through the park, they were overcome by the smell of melting cheese and warm bread.  They followed their noses to a shining boxy truck parked in the lane.  In hand-stenciled letters, "Brenda's Pizza" was painted on the side of the truck.

 

Soon both teams were scarfing down pepperoni pizzas.  They passed soccer balls between them, team mate to teammate, then opposing side to opposing side.  Though many held slices in both hands, their feet were free to play.  

 

Then once the players had their fill, the fans closed in on Brenda's pizza truck, their eyes full of longing and hunger.  And on that day, something happened that had not been seen before in the little town.  The supply of pizzas was still plentiful, and pie after pie issued forth from Brenda's pizza truck.  So it was that for the first time, the soccer players and their fans ate their post-game meal together. 

 

***

 

Eddie and Shirley started running when they saw the crowds of soccer players on the village green.  Shirley spotted the truck and they made a bee-line for it.  By the time they reached the truck's side-window, they were out of breath.  "Do you own this truck?" asked Shirley.

 

Brenda pointed to the letters painted on the side of the truck.  "Yep.  Brenda, that's me."

 

"Is it really just you in there?" Shirley continued.

 

"Yup, just me."

 

"How?" panted Eddie.  "How did you make so many pizzas for so many people all in one day?  It's not possible."

 

"Oh, it's not that hard," said Brenda.  "Of course, I wouldn't want to give away my trade secrets."  She smiled.  "You want to buy a slice?"

 

Shirley and Eddie each bought a slice of pepperoni pizza.  They agreed that it was pretty good, but not great.  The crust was a little soggy in the center and a little hard on the outside.  They chewed thoughtfully as they walked back to the Parkway Diner, then broke into a sprint again when they realize their 15 minute break was almost up.  

 

The next Saturday, the Parkway Diner was quiet again.  After his shift ended, Eddie got out a pizza box.  He pulled a hot pie from the oven and placed it carefully in the box.  The pizza used a white cheddar/mozzarella blend, and it was topped with sweet potatoes and pecans.  Carrying the box, Eddie walked to the village green.  

 

Brenda was latching closed the big side window on her truck when he arrived.  She looked at him quizzically.

 

"Uh, hi Brenda," stammered Eddie.  "I'm Eddie.  We met last week."

 

"Yeah, I remember you."  She looked at the steaming parcel in his hands.  "What's in the box?"

 

"It's for you.  It's my latest creation.  I wanted to give you something meaningful to me, in order to…" he trailed off.

 

"In order to get something out of me," Brenda finished.

 

"You don't have to phrase it like that," said Eddie.

 

"Sure I do; it's the truth," said Brenda.  "But hey, it smells great."  She was quiet for a moment, thinking.  "I'll tell you what.  If that's the best pizza I've ever tasted, I'll tell you how I make pizzas so fast.  If it's not, you don't come around my truck anymore."

 

"Deal," said Eddie.  He handed her the box. 

 

Brenda sat on the grass and pulled out a slice.  The cheese was still warm and elastic.  The sweet potatoes and pecans sang holiday carols together as the cheese reminisced about sprinkling down from the grater like new-fallen snow.  Brenda chewed.  Her eyes began to sparkle.

 

"Well?" asked Eddie when she had finished a slice.

 

Brenda leaned back on one arm and twirled a loose strand of hair with her free hand.  "That was exquisite," she said.  They both spent a long moment admiring Eddie's pizza.  "Well, a deal's a deal," said Brenda, breaking the silence.  "It's simple really.  Follow me."  Brenda opened the back of her truck and led Eddie inside.

 

One wall was completely filled with the largest oven Eddie had ever seen.  It had more racks than he could count, and a large fan.  "I designed the convection system myself.  You can cook more pizzas in here than you can with anything on the market.  A few spots heat a little unevenly, but I've never had a complaint from a customer."  Brenda gestured to the other wall.  "Here's the other half of the puzzle."  

 

It took Eddie a moment to comprehend that he was looking at an enormous chest freezer.  "You're selling frozen pizzas?"

 

"Hey, whatever it takes to move the product."  She seemed amused by how flummoxed Eddie looked.  "If it feels better for your sense of culinary integrity, I make most of them myself.  It's cheaper that way.  I make dough and sauce on Mondays, roll and top the pizzas on Tuesdays, then stick them in the freezer.  Then I'm all stocked up for the rest of the week.  Only one variety, so making the pies goes a lot faster."  She looked down at her feet.  "Sometimes I supplement with store-bought pies when it looks like it's going to be a busy week.  They don't come out quite as good.  There are some tricks to frozen pizza, like pre-cooking the dough just the right amount, that you need to do to make it good.  But I started this truck to get out of the game of working endless hours to get by.  If someone else's cheap frozen pie lets me sleep at night, I can live with soggy crust."

 

They both looked at Eddie's sweet potato pecan pizza again.  "Still," said Brenda, "Sometimes I have these crazy ideas."

 

Eddie closed the lid on the pizza box to keep the pizza warm.  "Sometimes," said Eddie, "I wish I knew how to reach more people with my ideas."

 

Brenda put her hands on the pizza box, inches from Eddie's.  "With your creativity and craftsmanship," she began.

 

"With your efficiency," Eddie continued.

 

"We could be the king and the queen of the pie."

 

 

_Brenda and Eddie were still going steady in the summer of '75_

_When they decided the kick-off would be at the end of July_

_Everyone said they were crazy_

_"Brenda you know that you're much too lazy_

_and Eddie could never abide to live that kind of life."_

_Oh, but there we were wavin' Brenda and Eddie goodbye._

_Oh, oh, oh_

 

 

"Do you remeber when we first met?" asked Corky.

 

"Of course," said Kelsey.  "Who could forget opening day at The Village Green pizza parlor?  Remember how bright and shiny we were back then?"

 

"Yeah, I felt so lucky to be a part of it.  I must have looked so silly strutting around the bar, ogling all the beautiful wines on the rack."

 

"You sure did.  You and Eddie both had stupid grins on your faces, while he wrote up that ridiculous list of 'Perfect Pizza Pairing Wines' on the chalkboard."

 

"Then Brenda came in and tossed you to Eddie."  Corky paused.  "What was it she said?"

 

"'Know your market. This is a college town, a beer town.  You'll need this.'"  Kelsey said glumly, "I used to be such a prized possession.  Now I'm all dull and battered."  It turned to let its inscription catch the dim light.  The engraving on one side read, "The Village Green."  The other side read, "Queen and King of the Pie."

 

"Well," said Corky, "Eddie took you out of the shoe box.  He still needs you."

 

"Not the way he did back then."

 

\---

 

The grand opening of The Village Green pizza parlor started at noon and ran on past midnight.  The restaurant was located within site of the spot where Brenda and Eddie had first tasted each other's pizza on that fateful autumn day.  Being so close to campus, it drew a big crowd.  

 

Brenda had been right about the wine pairing list.  No one tried any of it.  But the customers ate through the supply of fresh made pizza dough faster than Eddie and Brenda could make more.   They wished they'd hired another line chef for the kitchen, and several more wait-staff.

 

At 10 pm, they were all out of yeast, and the dining room was still packed.  Eddie started to pace around the kitchen nervously.  Suddenly he cried, "Of course! We can substitute baking soda!"

 

Brenda said quietly, "Eddie, we don't have any baking soda either."

 

Eddie started pacing again.  "Okay, okay.  Keep calm.  Remember what you know about leveners."  He looked at Brenda.  "Beer batter is a thing.  You can make bread leavened with beer.  Why not pizza dough, right?"  His voice made a small, desperate rise in pitch at the end.

 

Brenda walked to the freezer.  "I didn't want to have to do this," she said.  "But it's the only way."  She opened the shiny steel door and set aside several paper-wrapped cuts of meat.  Underneath them was something Eddie hadn't noticed before.  A stack of store-bought frozen pizzas.

 

"Brenda," he said coldly, "You didn't."

 

"Of course I did, Eddie.  I had to prepare for every contingency."  

 

"You could have prepared with more yeast!"

 

"Well you gave me the wrong proportions for my shopping list!  We could have made three times as many pizzas if you knew the correct abbreviations for teaspoon and tablespoon!"

 

Shirley poked her head in.  She was waitressing for the evening, but only as a personal favor for the grand opening.  She'd taken over Eddie's job as cook at the Parkway Diner, and rumor had it she was becoming famous for her cheesy fries.

 

"Is everything okay back here?" she asked.

 

"We're fine," muttered Eddie.

 

"Yeah, just fine," said Brenda.  "How's the beer supply holding out?"

 

"We just had to swap a new keg into the tap again, but we should have enough to round out the night," said Shirley.

 

"Great," said Brenda.  "We'll keep everyone happy then."

 

"Well, if you don't need anything," said Shirley suspiciously, "I'll just get back to the tables."

 

"Thanks, Shirley!  You're the best," called Eddie as she went back out the door.   "So," he went on, "Let's get back to how you were planning to ruin our culinary reputation on opening day."

 

"You mean how you were planning to make us look ill prepared and incompetent on our opening day?"  Brenda's voice softened.  "Eddie, everyone out there is drunk off their asses.  Anything covered with tomatoes and cheese will taste amazing to them at this point.  Your fancy pizzas brought them in here, but now all we have to do is make them stay."

 

Eddie took a deep breath.  "I can't sell that stuff for the same rate as a handcrafted pizza.  I couldn't look at myself in the mirror in the morning."

 

"Fine," said Brenda.  "We'll run a special.  Buy one, get one free.  Whatever keeps them here and keep the beer flowing."

 

"This isn't the right way to do things.  We should be better supplied, better staffed, and win people's loyalty that way."

 

Brenda looked Eddie in the eyes and put her hands on his shoulders.  "We will, Eddie.  We will.  We'll do things right.  But doing things right means having insurance, too."

 

Eddie nodded and gritted his teeth.  Then he noticed the sausages, garlic, and herbs sitting unused.  "I'm topping them."

 

"You're what?"

 

"A Village Green Pizza is something special, even if it's late and you're drunk.  These won't be the same as our fresh pizzas, but they won't be unmemorable accompaniments to our beer either."  He began to chop the garlic.

 

He grabbed the bowl of pizza sauce to move it out of the way, then stopped.  Brenda's hand was on the bowl, too.  They looked into each other's eyes, then said together, "Dipping sauce for the crusts!"

 

\---

 

The frozen sauce was grumpy. It was cold, and it had ever so much more thermal mass than the crust or the grated cheese.  They were both starting to wake up and get moving in the warm oven air.  The sauce heard them chatting gayly with the gentle sage, the lively basil, the sarcastic garlic, and the quirky oregano who had sprinkled into town right before they all went in the oven.  

 

"I don't know what's such a big deal," mumbled the frozen sauce.  "I've already got herbs in me."

 

Then the sauce noticed a strange sensation.  It felt a lively presence.  Something a little like pepperoni, but heavier, and zestier.  

 

"Hey there," said a slice of sausage.  "Why don't you come join the fun with everyone else?"

 

"I'm fine, thank you," replied the sauce. 

 

"Alright, then," said the sausage.  "I just thought I'd say hello.  I'm chorizo."

 

"Chorizo, huh?  Nice to met you."  Despite itself, the sauce felt itself warming to the newcomer.  After 30 minutes in the oven, they'd really developed a rapport.  The sauce had such a good time that it decided not to burrow into the center crust and make it soggy, or to pull away from the edges and make them dry.  It even struck up a lively debate with the garlic on the merits of chopping versus pressing.  The newcomers brought such merriment that everyone thawed more happily than they ever thought they could.  As they were about to be eaten, the sauce called back to the outer crust, "I'll miss you.  Thank you for always being so supportive."

 

The crust sat alone on the plate, basking in the sweet melancholy of the memories of its short time together with the rest of the pizza.  If only it had had the chance to get to know the sauce better.  

 

Then it felt itself being lifted off the plate, and suddenly it was surrounded by a tangy embrace.  "Sauce, is that you?"

 

"I think you've got me confused with someone else, baby, but I'm sure to get you wet all the same."  And in the customer's mouth, there was an explosion of delightful flavor.

 

_Well they got a nice venue with deep pile carpets_

_And a couple of fridges from Sears_

_A big brick oven where they baked all the bread_

_That they made for a couple of years_

_but they started to fight when the money got tight_

_And they just didn't count on the tears._

_Oh, oh yeah rock 'n roll_

_Oh, oh, oh_

 

After a year, Brenda and Eddie expanded The Village Green into the space next door.  In the minds of every local working stiff and every kid on campus, theirs was the place for laughter, relaxation, and expanding your world regarding who you knew and what you ate.

 

After two years, the space was too small again.  Brenda and Eddie began the search for a place that could hold their dreams.  They found a large venue in the business district, with two big dining rooms and a lounge.  

 

In November, a joyous shout was heard from the kitchen.  "I get to do something interesting!" cried the cranberries as they simmered on one of the stoves.  "I'm not just being reduced and put in a can!  Or juiced and diluted to impotence with the juices of apples and grapes.  Oh, if my bush could see me now, it would be so proud.  Who would have ever thought I'd get to be pizza sauce?"

 

"I wish those damned cranberries would calm down," said the turkey, "and have a little respect for how the rest of us are feeling.  Here I was hoping to be the centerpiece of a big feast, roasted golden brown and admired whole on a big long table.  Instead I just get to be cut into chunks."

 

"Lighten up," said the potatoes, lying on a cutting board in cubes.  "Yeah, it's nice to be the center of attention.  But so many turkeys are just roasts.  We're breaking new ground here.  Isn't that exciting, too?"  

 

The turkey wasn't so sure, but then the dough whispered to it, "You know your drippings are going to be made into a dipping sauce for my crusts, right?"

 

The turkey had not known.  It was intrigued.  So all its little pieces went over and made friends with the provolone.  Then everyone came together in the oven and tried their hardest to become the best pizza they could be.  And so began Eddie and Brenda's successful pizza-of-the-month menu item.

 

The restaurant did well for several years, and the district became known for its great food.  More and more restaurants opened in the area.  Shirley opened a poutine joint across the street.  People from neighboring towns started traveling to the area for dinner.  Business grew until it was as good as it could get.  Rent grew, too, and it didn't stop growing.

 

One morning, Brenda and Eddie were sitting in their little office, looking over the books.  They'd been having uncomfortable conversations there every month when the bills came in for several months.  They'd scaled back the menu to use more of the same ingredients on different items to reduce inventory and waste.  They'd stopped printing new menus for each monthly feature and just had the waitstaff memorize the featured items.  "I think we need to make the house red and the house white more prominent on the wine menu," said Brenda.  "We still have much worse margins on wine than beer.  If we don't have to tell people the name of the wine, we can do a bigger mark-up, but still offer something that costs less than most of the named wines on the menu."

 

Eddie looked unhappy.  "That feels… I don't know, dishonest?"

 

"It's a pretty common thing.  Besides, there are all sort of cheap wines that consistently beat the fancy stuff in blind taste tests, even when the tasters are professionals.  We'll be giving people good stuff for their money, and making a better margin ourselves.  It's win-win."

 

"I don't know," said Eddie.  "It just seems so gauche to drink a wine without even knowing it's name."

 

One side of Brenda's mouth quirked up in an incredulous smile, and expression she often had when talking to Eddie.  "Sometimes I think you're a little to emotionally attached to your food, Eddie."

 

Eddie frowned.  "Sometimes I think you aren't attached enough."  

 

They were both quiet for a long time.  Brenda broke the silence.  "Eddie, I'm not cut out for the food business.  You're right, my heart just isn't in it enough.  I'm tired of the late hours.  I'm tired of never having a day off."  She took a deep breath.  "I've been thinking about this for a while, actually.  I want to go back to school.  I want to go learn to code.  I have so many ideas for other kinds of businesses.  You always loved food for being food, but I love it for how it brings people together.  But I think there are better ways for me to make that my job."

 

"That's what I love about food, too," said Eddie.  "At least, it's what I love most."  He held her hand gently in his.  "Food is what brought us together."  Then he let their hands slide apart.  "But I know you haven't been happy for a while.  I hoped things would settle down and we wouldn't have to worry about money so much and we could go back to just making people great pizza."

 

"Even then, I don't think I'd be happy anymore."

 

"I know.  I hoped, but I think I still knew it couldn't be that way."

 

And so two months later, they let the lease lapse on the dining rooms and half the kitchen.  Brenda left for school.  Eddie became the sole signer of the lease on the lounge and turned it into a bar.  He still served a pizza-of-the-month.  The first one was sweet potato pecan.  

 

 

_Well, they lived for a while in a very nice style_

_But it's always the same in the end_

_They got a divorce as a matter of course_

_And they parted the closest of friends_

_Then the king and the queen went back to the green_

_But you could never go back there again_

_Oh, oh_

 

\---

 

_Brenda and Eddie had had it already by the summer of '75_

_From the high to the low to the end of the show_

_For the rest of their lives_

_They couldn't go back to the greases_

_The best they could do was pack up their pizzas_

_We always knew they would both find a way to get by_

_Oh and that's all I heard about Brenda and Eddie_

_Can't tell you more 'cause I've told you already_

_And here we are wavin' Brenda and Eddie goodbye_

_Oh, oh, oh_

_Oh, oh, oh_

_Oh, oh, oh_

_Yeah_

 

Someone came by to bus the table and dropped Kelsey and Corky into a pocket.  They were extracted at a different table in the corner by the window.  Four people were there, two with bottles of a local winter ale and two who were planning to split a bottle of Argentine Malbec.

 

The humans seemed a bit nervous around each other.  Each side of the table had one beer drinker and one wine drinker, and whispers were exchanged between people on the same side of the table.  But after the waiter had Corky unstop the wine and Kelsey open the beers, the Malbec in its velvety voice led everyone through proper introductions.  It seemed that the friends on each side of the table had gone to a dating website called goodtasteinpeople.com, where they had been matched with another pair of friends who had complementary tastes in food, and the website had arranged for them all to meet at a local restaurant which met their tastes.

 

By the time the waiter came back to take the food order, the winter ales had warmed everyone's spirits and encouraged them to share spicy stories about dating failures from using other websites.  They'd been so busy chatting that they'd hardly had time to look over the menu.  

 

"I don't know; surprise us," said one person.

 

"Something simple," said another.

 

"But not too simple," said a third.

 

"I'm staying out of this," said the fourth.

 

The waiter smiled and nodded, and said, "I'll see what I can do."

 

A few minutes later, another man came over.  "Hi everyone," he said, "I'm Eddie, the owner and main chef here.  I was hoping to learn a little more about you folks before I made your dinner."

 

And so they told Eddie the story of how they all came to be at the bar that night, and he went back to the kitchen with a smile.  

 

The four diners stayed late into the night, swapping stories over their pepperoni pizza, made with chorizo and seasoned with a lively blend of garlic, sage, basil, and oregano, with a tomato and roasted garlic dipping sauce for their crusts.

 

At the end of the night, when Corky was returned to its drawer, it introduced Kelsey to the sommelier knife and the rest of its family.  They clinked pleasantly in greeting, providing a musical background to Eddie's work as he stayed late experimenting with new ingredients, too inspired to sleep.

 

_A bottle of red, a bottle of white,_

_Whatever kind of mood you're in tonight_

_I'll meet you anytime you want_

_In our Italian Restaurant._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yule, whatsubtext! Hopefully this is the kind of thing you were looking for. We matched on Pizza (Anthropomorphic), but I was also intrigued by the idea of Wines (Anthropomorphic), which made me think of Scenes from an Italian Restaurant, and I've been wanting to write fic based on a Song, and so here we are.


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